


I'll Be Doin' This, If You Had a Doubt, 'Til the Love Runs Out

by jojothecr



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, written in 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:36:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5227154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jojothecr/pseuds/jojothecr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Supernatural</em> is over. (Hey, don't yell at me, I gave them two more seasons.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Doin' This, If You Had a Doubt, 'Til the Love Runs Out

**Author's Note:**

> Title by OneRepublic

The set is a dark place of abandoned equipment and shadows that refuse to move. Silhouettes of buildings and cars, of wrecks and a half burned bridge that is still smoldering.

 

Jensen’s sitting on the hood of the car he’s learned to call his and that’ll be driving them home tonight - he’s earned it; cheap sneakers on the polished chrome of the bumper and the backrest of his director’s chair draped over his knee. There’s weariness on his face, smudges of make-up and real dirt, and sadness in his eyes that’s been lingering there for weeks. A goodbye they had all been pretending was only a myth, still far, that used to be _so_ far, no longer so. It’s here now, painfully real, heavy and edgy, like a stray splinter beneath fair skin.

Jensen looks up at the sound of approaching footsteps, smiles when he realizes it’s Jared. A grin that offers more pain than comfort, regrets they’ve been taught to ignore.

Jared leans against the car next to Jensen, nudges his shoulder gently. “You okay?”  
It’s a pointless question, a rhetorical one, no more. He’s not okay, they aren’t. But they will be. In a few days. Maybe weeks. When they’ll remember how to exist in the real world again, how to cooperate with the void.

Jensen nods, still. “Yeah. Just… We were joking about it for years, laughing at the fans’ panic and… everything, I just… I just somehow cannot believe that it’s actually happening. That tomorrow morning we’ll just--” He shrugs, suddenly lost for words, surprised. “ _What_ will we be doing tomorrow morning?”

“I don’t know. Hit the snooze button?”

“Yeah.” Jensen’s chuckle is darker than usual, irony lingering in its threads. “I didn’t get further than that either.”

“We’ll make something up.”

There’ll be a party tomorrow, the final dot at the end of this farewell letter, but there are hours before that, half a day of no script, no directions, no emotions coerced by the writers. Finally the time to do something fun, catch up with all the things they’ve been putting off for years; TV shows, movies, books. Family visits, friends’ reunions. They’ve missed a lot.

Years have passed, seasons have changed (there were thirteen of them); lovers came and went, co-stars have turned into friends, into family. They’ve stayed the same. Almost.

Jared’s hand finds Jensen’s in the dark, fingers sliding over and through his, paler, shorter, and squeeze tightly. He tugs lightly, just a suggestion, a request. “Let’s go home.”

Jensen nods, slides off the car with grace that Jared can only quietly envy, and tugs the scuffed backrest into the back pocket of his jeans. But he doesn’t take a single step forward, doesn’t follow Jared. Instead, he reaches for Jared’s other hand, warm fingers curling around his wrist, halting him, turning him towards himself. There’s a whisper on his lips, a kiss that tastes of bitter coffee and sour candy, like all the ones before, hidden, secret. And yet different. Jared deepens it, impatient, biting on Jensen’s lower lip, tugging at the pliant flesh; wanting more, wanting in. He rests his hand on Jensen’s hip, fingertips sliding up and beneath soft cotton. Jensen’s not fighting him for once, shy and worried, panicked; he’s none of that tonight. No one’s there, no one’s looking. It doesn’t really matter anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a tiny something that nudged my brain when I realized that I _really_ miss writing and that the thing I'm writing now I'm actually _not_ writing. And that I need to _finish_ something.


End file.
